


The Kinds of Love

by PlayingTheGameOfThrones



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, background jonerys - Freeform, sansa is eighteen, takes place directly after season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13563927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingTheGameOfThrones/pseuds/PlayingTheGameOfThrones
Summary: Women and wolves wed for life.





	The Kinds of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Storge: Love that flows from kinship and familiarity.

Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, stood on a parapet overlooking Winterfell’s yard. Any moment now, Sansa knew, her brother would return, with the dragon queen and her army in tow. She kept her eyes trained on the gates ahead of her. Snowflakes melted in her hair where they landed, her red hair framing a face impassive as the snowbanks littering the yard. Anger at Jon Snow’s betrayal of the North, of Winterfell, of _her_ , still simmered inside her, the only outward sign of her anger the clenched fists at her sides. She had long known how to hide what she truly felt. Greeting her wayward brother and his new invader queen would be no different.

“Are you ready?” her sister’s voice came from the shadows behind her. A few months ago Sansa would have been startled by her sister’s sudden appearance at her side, but she had grown used to her younger sister’s strange ways, if not fond of them. It had proven itself useful when she had discovered Lord Baelish’s treachery, and she suspected it would prove useful with this dragon queen soon enough.

“As ready as I can be,” Sansa replied, not taking her eyes from the gates.

Arya shrugged, her hand resting on the hilt of her thin sword, an old habit. A helpful habit, as her sister’s personal guard in Brienne of Tarth’s absence. “Bran says he’s seen this dragon queen. Says she’s honorable. Do you believe him?”

“Do you?” Sansa countered.

Arya gave her older sister a small smile. “I’d like to see her for myself first.”

Finally Sansa tore her eyes from the gates and returned the smile. “I learned long ago to trust my own eyes above anything else,” she agreed.

“Are you still angry with Jon?”

Sansa sighed. “I’m more confused than angry,” she confessed. “When Jon left, he left as a king. Now he returns with a woman who knows nothing of the North, having declared her his queen.”

“Bran says Jon loves her. This dragon queen.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “He said that?”

Arya nodded. “Said he saw it through the weirwood.”

Sansa returned her gaze to the gates. “I suppose we’ll see for ourselves.”

 

On the other side of the gates, a little ways up the kingsroad from Winterfell, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen, sat astride his horse, eyes trained on the grey castle looming down the road.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jon mused from atop his own horse, plodding alongside Tyrion’s.

 _Beautiful_ was not the word Tyrion had been thinking of. The castle looked like a slumbering beast, waiting to be awoken to swallow any unfortunate Lannisters in its path. He felt much the same foreboding sense of _you do not belong here_ that he had felt so many years ago when he traveled this same road with a very different king and queen. “Yes,” he agreed anyway. “Beautiful.” He knew Jon felt much the same way about the castle that Daenerys felt about her dragons: terrifying to everyone with sense, beautiful to these lovelorn fools. It was no wonder they had fallen for each other.

“Are you nervous to see my sister?”

Tyrion looked at Jon sharply. “Should I be?”

Jon shrugged. “We spoke at length of you when last I was in Winterfell. She always spoke fondly of you.”

Tyrion felt his cheeks redden and hoped Jon would mistake it for the chill. “Our marriage was a sham. Never consummated. But I learned to feel a certain...affection for her in the brief time we spent together.”

Jon glanced at Tyrion out of the corner of his eye before spurring his horse forward to ride with the queen at the head of the column.

Tyrion returned his gaze to the gates, and tried to forget the nervousness that coiled in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Open the gates!”

Sansa watched as first Daenerys and then Jon galloped into the courtyard. Sansa could hear the cries of the dragons in the distance, and wondered if the dragon queen thought she wasn’t fierce enough to face a dragon or three.

“My lady?” Arya offered her arm. “Ready?”

Sansa smiled. “Thank you, my knight in shining armor.”

But when Sansa stepped into Winterfell’s courtyard, it wasn’t the dragon queen or her brother that she saw first. It was little Lord Tyrion, dismounting his horse and crossing the yard to her.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said, clasping his outstretched hand in greeting. She could feel the warmth of his palm through his fur-lined glove.

“Tyrion, Sansa,” he quipped, a small smile crawling over his features. “My name is Tyrion.”

Sansa was brought back to their wedding night with his words, and was surprised when, where she used to find fear and anger, she found a sort of warmth inside her at the memory, and returned his smile. “My apologies, Tyrion. I hope your journey to Winterfell was pleasant.”

“It was long and arduous in truth, my lady,” Tyrion said, his smile betraying his words. “But it was well worth it to be in your company once more.”

Sansa felt a blush creeping over her cheeks and prayed Tyrion would think it the chill. “Sansa, Tyrion,” she said. “My name is Sansa.”

Tyrion flashed her a wolfish grin, a glint in his eye. It was then that they realized they were still clasping hands, and let them drop to their sides.

“I hate to interrupt,” Sansa heard Jon say, and she spun on her heel to find her brother at her side, the strange queen hovering behind him. “But I thought you would like to meet Daenerys.”

The surprisingly small woman with striking silver hair that matched the snowflakes falling all around them stepped forward. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa,” the dragon queen said, and Sansa was again surprised to hear how soft her voice was.

 _Strange_ , Sansa thought. _She does not greet me as a queen greets a subject, but as an equal._ She wondered if she had misjudged this dragon queen, but decided she had better learn more of this woman in front of her before making a decision. She knew well from her time with Queen Cersei that manner and looks could be deceiving.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady.” Sansa caught the sharp look Jon gave her at not addressing Daenerys as her queen, but Sansa ignored him. _She is not my queen, even if she is Jon’s. She knows nothing of the North._ “Shall we head inside? We have prepared a feast for your arrival.”

“I think that is a marvelous idea,” Tyrion said, still smiling at Sansa. She smiled back, grateful for his presence among the strangers in Winterfell’s courtyard.

Sansa led the way into the castle, Tyrion following close behind her.

 


End file.
